


Come Home (To My Heart)

by unfinishedpages



Series: Got Me Coming Right Back [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fluff and Smut, Implied Switching, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19462459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedpages/pseuds/unfinishedpages
Summary: A glimpse of Jongin and Kyungsoo's multifaceted lives, and how they intertwine.





	Come Home (To My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Make it painful, but high fashion.
> 
> Of course, at this point, we have all yelled out over Jongin's Narcissist shoot with Gucci and Vogue KR. 
> 
> This originally started out as a Famous Photographer Kyungsoo and Model Jongin dating, but in light of Kyungsoo's enlistment, I brought pain with an Actor Ksoo/Model Jongin au.
> 
> Special thanks to my betas D, who had endured my writing for years, and Fairy, whose comments made me giggle through editing. 
> 
> Title from Lorde's Supercut.

A sharp click of a camera resonated in the dimly lit bathroom, the sound bouncing off of antique tiles. 

The low rumble of laughter followed in response with the slow drip drop of the bath water spilling onto the floor as the subject rose to sit in the tub. “Put that down and join me.” His muse murmured, a slender hand rising from the water to smooth his dripping fringe off his forehead, leaning back on the tub, waiting.

Another click. 

“Kyungsoo.” He beckoned again. 

Kyungsoo sighed, resting his camera on his thigh and slouching against the dining chair he had dragged into the en suite bathroom. 

He was aware that the owner would not be the least bit happy if this piece of antique furniture ended up with water damage, but ah, who cared. “Just one more, Jongin.”

Jongin clicked his tongue in mock annoyance, before indulging the older man and submerging himself in the tub, letting the world above grow muffled with the gentle lull of the water. 

He resurfaced seconds later, meeting Kyungsoo’s fond gaze, camera set on the bathroom counter. “Thank you.” Kyungsoo murmured, before holding a robe towards the other.

He laughed, rising from the tub in his naked glory, smiling at the focused gaze Kyungsoo had on one water droplet sliding down the length of his neck then down the plane of his chest. “As if you actually want me to cover up.” Jongin commented, tying the robe haphazardly before padding out of the bathroom. 

Kyungsoo smirked before following Jongin into the bedroom with his camera around his neck and the heavy chair behind him. “True, but you did come here for work. Can’t have you bailing on the show because of a cold. Mr. Michele would be,” He stated, before trailing off as Jongin sat down on the bed. “disappointed.”

“I’m sure he would.” Came the reply from Jongin, already occupied with his meticulous skin care routine, jars and travel-sized bottles scattered on the bedside table. Jongin’s beauty and grace have always been his best commodity, only second to his talent. After that career-ending knee injury at twenty-two, it only made sense to profit on the next best thing. 

Of course, he was unhappy with the career change, but who cared about happiness when you were ‘ _fuck you_ ’ levels of rich, sitting on a wallet with access to as high as eight figures in his combined bank accounts. 

As the zeros increased, so did his boredom over his job.

He had made enough a year to more than survive, but was he truly living? Hiding an entire piece of his life behind closed doors, staring at the scraps of his previous life, having a supposedly salacious love affair with the Darling of the South Korean film industry.

They can rest assured with Jongin’s knowledge of Kyungsoo still adhering to their expectations of a typical wine and dine with his date. 

Though, everything changed in the privacy of their personal little bubble—Kyungsoo’s expensive private villa by the beach, Jongin’s apartment, the myriad of hotel rooms they met halfway scattered around the world. 

Kyungsoo’s older fans would balk at the thought of the Boy Next Door having a penchant of fucking his conquests against one.

Jongin rubbed at his shoulder absentmindedly, thanking the owners of the villa for having all the doors and locks in prime condition, unless he fancied explaining why the bedroom door had been torn off its hinges.

But with the vase of peonies on the foyer of the villa and a personalised pendant to commemorate his invitation to the Musei Capitolini, Kyungsoo, and their relationship had to be put on the back burner for the meantime. 

Jongin sighed, carefully smoothing a sheet mask over his jaw as he attempted to read the gibberish of French on the packaging. “Costed him and Vogue a few hundred thousand euros to get my team and me here. I imagine it wouldn’t be a good financial return if I couldn’t get a handful of people to get a piece of the new collection.” 

He turned to look at Kyungsoo over his shoulder, back impossibly straight. “Plus, what would my manager tell him? Sorry, Jongin can’t attend the show because he got sick after getting dicked down too good and falling asleep in the bath because someone refused to let him out for one more picture?”

A snort escaped Kyungsoo’s lips, which slowly gave way to a few chuckles. “That would be hard to explain, yes.” 

“Yet look at you, so proud of your actions. If I didn’t know any better, I would've assumed you were like any other man.” Came the joking jab from Jongin, twisting his body towards the older man. 

“Spending a few million won just to have a few hours with me, even renting the same villa I had the photoshoot in. I feel honoured.”

Kyungsoo merely shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Partly true. I’m also here for work, you know. Some sorry attempt by my agency to hijack my vacation before I'm due to be shipped off to film again.” He explained, lazily flicking through the shots on his phone by the vanity stool. 

“Two months is a long vacation, Kyungsoo.” Jongin pointed out, to which Kyungsoo shrugged at a beat too late. “I haven’t had a proper vacation in five years, Jongin. Plus, contract renewals. I fought to have more in my favour this time now that I actually have the leverage.” 

“What had you been doing before you booked a flight to Milan in the middle of May? Last I heard you were in Japan with your actor clique? Or was it the producer? Loey, was it?”

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo offered. 

“Yes, him. So what brings you to Italy at the ass crack of summer, where one of the worst ways to die is just an influx of mosquito bites?” Jongin bit back.

Kyungsoo laughed at the barb in Jongin’s tone, though he was aware that it was harmless. “You, mostly. Wanted to take some of my own pictures of you. It’s been a while, you know.” Kyungsoo said sheepishly, hugging the camera to his chest.

If Jongin’s schedule was crazy, then Kyungsoo’s would’ve already been classified as almost near impossible. 

He had gained notoriety as an actor at the age of twenty-one, as a writer’s hallucination with a star-studded cast and for a lack of a better word, blew up. 

His humility, perseverance and dedication, not to mention his raw talent for acting and charming personality, had paid handsomely—selling out the box office locally and internationally with his films, and garnering him quite a following. 

Even Jongin wasn’t sure how they lasted this long with the minuscule amount of time they spent together. 

At first, it had been an easy friendship in the dressing room of a studio for a photoshoot. Kyungsoo was all serene smiles and smooth conversation, deep laughter often making its presence in their talks whether it be face to face or over the cracked screen of Jongin’s iPhone, sneaking out for some deep fried street food in the middle of the night that would make Jongin regret them in the morning

Somewhere in the middle, it had turned into an easy way to scratch an itch. A means to a momentary end. It was good while it lasted, great even, a quick fix. Kyungsoo fucked the same way he did everything—with the utmost care and effort, and Jongin appreciated that. 

Kyungsoo was everything good that Jongin wanted, and the older man was all too willing to give and give. 

It was easy, convenient and covert. So why not? 

This was one person who had a lot more secrets than he did, and a lot more to lose if ever the secret got out. With the ironclad non-disclosure agreements Jongin’s manager and styling team were signed into, and the lock and chain Kyungsoo’s agency kept his life under, no one would even dare tarnish the wonder boy’s reputation.

They had developed a routine; fuck, spare some small talk and then leave until the next time.

Kyungsoo had deviated from that gradually. 

He had started staying until the morning when his schedule allowed it, making Jongin and himself some breakfast, building a new routine of waking Jongin up to an actual breakfast that still followed the younger man’s strict diet, and a mug of milk with a few spoonfuls of coffee. 

Jongin didn’t mind it at all, mostly because Kyungsoo knew the way he liked his coffee and had appreciated the fact that he awoke to Kyungsoo’s deep voice wishing him a good morning, a balm to soothe his nerves instead of his manager, already reading his schedules to him like the gospel before he had opened his eyes and gathered his senses. 

Some nights, Kyungsoo just really needed company, not a body to warm his bed. 

Most of the time, Kyungsoo just wanted to talk to someone about a film he was enthusiastic about, hands animated as he translated a foreign film to Jongin, murmuring the words into his ear or on Jongin’s hoodie-clad chest, their feet tangled under the sheets. 

Sometimes, he just wanted to talk about a new role he was rehearsing for, pads of coloured page tabs and highlighters scattered on his dining table next to a heavily annotated ring bound script. 

Jongin fondly recalled the day Kyungsoo texted him to say that he had been cast as Roh Kisoo for Swing Kids, excited to show him the tap dancing routine he practiced for the film. 

Kyungsoo had been a mix of irked and impressed when Jongin took a mere couple of hours to learn the routine, shaking his head as Jongin danced beside him in his living room, feet in Kyungsoo’s too big tap dancing shoes. “You should’ve become an idol, you know. You’re the perfect package.”

“Bad knee, remember.” Jongin raised his leg and showed the faint line of stitches along the side. “If I danced at the level I used to, and strained my body the same, I wouldn’t have been able to walk anymore.”

“I would’ve paid to see you dance in a ballet, if things were different.” Kyungsoo replied, bending down to remove the heavy shoes from Jongin's feet. 

Jongin smiled, reaching down to touch Kyungsoo’s hair, the short strands of his buzz cut tickling his palm. “If things were different, we wouldn’t have this.”

“I see.” The gaze in Kyungsoo’s eyes slowly grew pensive, before he smiled that familiar actor smile. The one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and at the time, Jongin didn’t exactly understand why it didn’t sit well with him, and shrugged it off. 

Some nights, he just wanted to try a recipe and hear someone else’s opinion on it. Just simple Doh Kyungsoo, attending culinary courses in the miniscule free time that he split between himself and Jongin, far from red carpets and filming sets, instead, in his minimalist kitchen, and Jongin far from runways and photoshoots, now seated on one of his bar stools.

One time, he talked about trying out a new hobby, influenced by another friend in the industry, Junmyeon. 

Photography, Kyungsoo said, messing with the settings of his phone camera, unable to decide if he was going to commit to the expensive hobby. 

“Tell you what, try it out. I’ll even volunteer to be your model, of course, you can’t let people see my face.” Jongin had responded one evening, chin lingering on his knee as he ate whatever dish Kyungsoo had prepared that night. 

Two months, and a crash course in Adobe Photoshop later, the moniker _d.o. had come to life. 

And like everything Kyungsoo did, it turned out well.

Kyungsoo had found a new creative outlet aside from acting and cooking, and photography had provided him a cloud of anonymity to explore more of that medium of art. Actor Doh had been nobody behind the barrel of his lens, and Jongin could see that Kyungsoo loved the little bit of freedom it had given him.

Their easy friendship had slowly evolved into a mutual understanding of each other’s needs and wants, both all too willing to give affection to each other without the commitment.

Yet, Kyungsoo was all too determined to change that too. 

A few months into their escalating setup, nerves still burning with the remnants of a night together, body wonderfully sore, Kyungsoo just dropped the bomb.

“I want to take this seriously.” He said, sitting on the foot of Jongin’s bed, shirtless with his slacks undone as he tugged the socks back onto his feet.

His words had startled Jongin, to the point of dropping a heavy pocket book on his chin. “Pardon?” Jongin asked, scooting up to sit against the headboard. 

Kyungsoo heaved a breath from deep down in his chest, deflating. A beat of silence fell on both of them, before Kyungsoo turned his head. “I want to take this thing we have, seriously.” He repeated cautiously, waving his hands around as he struggled to explain. “I don’t know what exactly I want, but I want to be with you.” 

Jongin felt like all the air had been punched out of his chest. “What?”

Kyungsoo let out a broken sound, before laughing, harshly pulling the black pullover his head. “I want things to go beyond just sex, Jongin.” 

No response. 

“Forget I even said anything. I’ll get going. I’ll text you.” He shrugged it off, breezing through the room to look for his car keys and clearly avoiding Jongin’s gaze. Kyungsoo always called, unless he was terribly occupied. It was evident that Kyungsoo was going to clam up against him.

Jongin had to think fast. 

He wasn’t about to ruin this. 

He liked Kyungsoo. 

Kyungsoo was his only friend that he truly tolerated in the industry. Kyungsoo understood, and he could be so much more in Jongin’s life despite his fear of commitment—the fear of holding on and working towards something only for it to be for naught and crumble into pieces before him. 

Jongin grabbed the keys off the tray on his dresser and shook them between his fingers in the older man’s direction. “No.” He said abruptly, his mind running through a thousand thoughts a minute. He walked to the elder’s position slowly while tucking the blanket around his waist.

“Don’t leave just yet.” He said, reaching out to stroke Kyungsoo’s cheek almost cautious with his movements. “Let’s talk,” he whispered as their faces grew closer, the look in Kyungsoo’s eyes heartbreakingly gentle. 

As if he was convinced himself that this was all a sham, that Jongin would pull away and laugh at his hopes all crumbling down.

“We can try. I can try.”

And if there’s one thing that he was sure about Jongin, he never half assed anything he dipped his toes into. 

Two years and in another continent later, he had opened the door of his bedroom to Kyungsoo smiling at him with a bouquet of roses in his arms, his luggage behind him after nearly three months of not seeing each other. 

On the other side of the world too, for that matter. Jongin couldn’t believe he would go to lengths like this, just three months ago, he booked a red eye flight from New York to Japan just to spend less than ten hours with the older man in an overpriced amusement park. 

He took what he could get, and savoured it to the best of his ability, because it was something uniquely his. 

Needless to say, there hadn’t been much talking since Jongin had opened the door to Kyungsoo. As soon as the door clicked shut, Jongin grabbed the other and pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together as close as humanly possible. 

One thing led to another, and then Jongin soon found himself stifling a moan into the expensive sheets, Kyungsoo’s lips gentle on his shoulders. 

Kyungsoo never truly half assed anything too, did he.

Jongin smiled, replying, “I’m well aware.”

Kyungsoo merely took another picture of him looking ridiculous in a towel turban and a sheet mask. “Mouthy.”

“Look at you, mixing business with pleasure.” Jongin huffed, voice tinged with amusement as he peeled the sheet mask off his face. “You’ve always been so cryptic about your photography. People will find out one of these days that you and I aren’t the same person. I mean, do people think I’m that self obsessed?” 

A shrug, followed by repeated clicks of a button. “They already speculate. Imagine their satisfaction about being right about something.” Kyungsoo tore his eyes away from the screen. “I won’t put them up if you don’t want me to. One word, and I’ll take them all down.”

“No, I don’t mind. I like your pictures.”

“That’s because they’re all you.”

“They’re good, and yeah, that too.”

“You’re a great model, Jongin. The credit you give yourself is very much due.”

Jongin chuckled, leaning back to cross his legs, still naked under the robe. 

The robe didn’t really leave much to the imagination, Kyungsoo thought, eyes trained on the crease of Jongin’s hip and thigh uncovered by his robe. Judging by the spark of mischief and his languid posture, Jongin knew.

The younger man’s perfume was thick in the room, building desire sweet and cloying on Kyungsoo’s tongue, dripping over his nerves like molasses as he stood up, walking towards him. 

Jongin didn’t seem the least bit fazed, in fact, he enjoyed the attention.

In fact, he thrived off of it.

Especially Kyungsoo’s.

Jongin knew how attractive he was, how otherworldly beautiful, and how alluring he was in Kyungsoo’s eyes, and he took his utmost pleasure in the fact that he would be the only person able to elicit a reaction like this from Kyungsoo. 

After all, Kyungsoo could have anyone. 

Any one of his leading men or leading ladies and let the press have a field day, his pick in the handful of socialites preening in his presence, and the myriad of models subtly batting their lashes at him but no one could compare. 

No one could come close to Jongin. 

And Kyungsoo always made him feel that. 

Kyungsoo’s hand lingered on Jongin’s knee, a silent question of consent as their eyes met, the silence between them palpable in the Italian summer. 

Jongin found it sweet, that no matter how dirty Kyungsoo fucked him, how filthy the stream of obscenities Kyungsoo whispered into the line of his shoulders and the nape of his neck, he still asked for permission. 

Even if they fucked mere hours ago. 

Even if Jongin had been on his knees, begging for anything and everything, Kyungsoo always needed verbal confirmation, through and through.

Jongin uncrossed his legs slowly, relishing way Kyungsoo’s calloused fingertips trailed gently on the tops of his thighs, his hip, his waist, chest before they stopped on his shoulder, thumbing the skin on his collarbone.

Right. 

Words. 

“I’d like to be fucked into next weekend now, please.” Jongin murmured, shivering slightly under the intensity of Kyungsoo’s gaze above him. “Filthy.” Kyungsoo mussed, smiling down kindly at him, a stark contrast to the sharp curl of fingers in his hair, tipping his head up. “It’s been months, and there’s only so much my hands can do, Soo.” Jongin reasoned out, cheeky even with the desperate need thrumming through his veins.

“I swear, sometimes I over indulge you.” Kyungsoo frowned with no hint of malice in his features.“At least you know how to say please.” 

The fingers loosened, massaging his scalp before he felt the mattress dip on either side of him, then Kyungsoo’s form warm and heavy above him. “Oh.” Jongin commented, heaving a breath. 

“Oh?” Kyungsoo echoed, eyes impossibly dark as his hips moved with purpose. 

They normally didn’t do this.

Mostly because Kyungsoo loved to indulge Jongin, but every now and then, Kyungsoo let himself be selfish.

“You want...to?” Jongin trailed off brokenly, stifling a groan in an attempt to gather his thoughts, hands already smoothing over the smooth fabric of Kyungsoo’s sweatpants. 

“How about I let you fuck me into next weekend?” Kyungsoo replied, cocking his head to the side as if he wasn’t riding Jongin hard enough to make his eyes roll back, eyes still impassive but Jongin knew he was equally as impatient was he was. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Came the provocation from the older male, indulging Jongin with another breathless kiss. 

“I—” Jongin breathed out, voice shaky, before the sharp, familiar sound of his phone ringing in the corner broke the spell. “That’s your manager,” Kyungsoo said, hips slowing to a stop but the sticky sweet kisses he trailed up the length of Jongin’s neck hadn’t ceased. “You should answer it. He’ll keep calling, probably thinking you’re asleep like the dead.”

Jongin made a thin sound of refusal, which made Kyungsoo laugh into the skin underneath his jaw. “Go. You wouldn’t want him barging into us out of concern. See you all desperate and pretty for me, would you?”

“You’re not exactly getting off.” Came the weak retort from Jongin, hands still splayed on the older man’s hips. Kyungsoo grinned, hiking his legs back onto the mattress. “Alright.”

Jongin begrudgingly pulled himself away from the bed, hastitly rearranging the robe that had slipped down his shoulders and pooled around his elbow. The screen had lit up with a number of messages, before the piercing ring tone had filled the room again. “Jesus, your ringtone is atrocious.”

“It’s just the one I set for hyung.” Jongin reasoned, breathing in and out to calm himself, turning his back to silence the ebbs of desire creeping up his neck at the sight of Kyungsoo shirtless on the disheveled bed sheets, rifling through the half read book Jongin left on the nightstand. “So I know I have to answer it,” he explained, before answering the call. 

“Hello?”

_ ‘Jongin, finally. Did you read my texts?’ _

“Not yet. Sorry, I was in the bath. Why?”

_ ‘Just reminders for tomorrow. Call time is eight am. Remember to be back at the villa before that, if you’re elsewhere. I’ll be there at six thirty to pick you up for the show.’ _

“Gotcha. Wake up at five thirty. Leave at six thirty. Anything else?”

_ ‘Don’t have too much fun. I heard Kyungsoo is on vacation, and I know you two aren’t much on self control.’  _ His manager sighed, already aware about the things happening behind his back. 

“What.”

_ ‘Not too much fun.’  _ The older man reiterated, clicking his tongue. Jongin laughed, shaking his head while staring at Kyungsoo reading his book. “Okay.”

His manager heaved a breath on the other side of the line.  _ ‘Alright. Good night, Jongin.’ _

After setting his phone back on the table, Jongin spotted Kyungsoo’s Leica on the vanity. Kyungsoo had taught him how to use it a few months back, but Jongin hadn’t quite grasped manual photography yet, only knowing enough to make it work. 

He pointed it in Kyungsoo’s direction and shot, grinning when Kyungsoo whisked his eyes from the page and stared at him. “First tap dancing, then this? You’re determined to become a Jack of all trades, huh?” He murmured, though most of his face had been concealed by the book.

Jongin swiped Kyungsoo’s phone open, poking around on the camera’s app to look at his own shots. It was shaky at best—the photo a tad too dark without photoshop, but Kyungsoo’s dark brows and intense gaze had shone through. “I’m afraid not. I never really learned how to use it after that one night, plus your camera is mighty expensive, you know that.”

“What can I say, I made it.” Kyungsoo said almost wistfully, lips curled at one side as Jongin reciprocated their earlier position before it had been broken apart by Jongin’s manager. “What did it take?” The younger man had asked, hiking his legs up the mattress and over Kyungsoo’s lap, hands curling around Kyungsoo’s shoulders and nape. 

“A lot. Time, privacy, but,” Kyungsoo had leaned up to kiss him, fingertips warm on Jongin’s thigh. “This, with you, makes it all somehow worth it.”

“I thought the few Best Actor trophies was the reason.”

“Of course, it’s great to be recognised for my work, but I would’ve never met you had we not been in that Marie Clare issue. I wouldn’t have had this if I hadn’t entered the industry.” Kyungsoo murmured, pulling Jongin closer to hug him, burying his face into the other’s chest. “I’m happy being with you.” His voice lingered, as if he was afraid of saying something else.

Jongin thought how rocky the start of their unlabeled relationship was as he wrapped his arms around Kyungsoo, leaning his head on the older’s. 

It was hard, to say the least. 

The small slivers of time they had together wasn’t enough at all—and there were so many things to work out that just couldn’t be resolved over a phone call or a text message. 

But they had made it. 

Two years. 

Yet, Jongin had wondered why they still hadn’t said those three words even though Kyungsoo made him feel so, so loved every day of his life. 

He knew Kyungsoo was a man of few words, someone who had relied more on his actions and gestures towards the people he cared about, but  _ that _ was something Jongin desperately needed to hear from the older man. 

Because, what if he said it first and Kyungsoo didn’t feel the same way yet? 

They were together for two years, but the time they had spent together only added up to a mere three months altogether, and for some, that would be enough. 

But Jongin wanted to tell Kyungsoo. He needed to, despite the hammering of his chest and his pulse loud in his ears.

“Hey.” Kyungsoo had pulled away from the embrace, running his hands through Jongin’s damp fringe. He met Jongin’s confused eyes and smoothed the furrow between his brows with his thumb, before caressing a cheekbone. “You’re deep in thought about something. You okay?”

His eyes found Kyungsoo’s halfway, clear despite the low lights in the room. Kyungsoo’s were sincere, features knit in concern about Jongin’s sudden silence.

“I love you, Kyungsoo.” Jongin stated, voice clear and unshaking, despite the temor in his hands on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. 

“I don’t remember when, but I just know that I do. You may not feel the same way, and this may all be over once you leave me tonight, but I just wanted you to know.” Jongin continued, still gauging the older man’s reaction. “I just do. I feel so at peace with you, I can only hope you feel the same.” He finished quietly, the creeping sense of dread suffocating him. 

Kyungsoo’s lips slid into a smile. 

“Must you really take the spotlight from me every time?” He said, low and quiet. “I thought I could say it first, but you beat me to it.” He said, almost sadly. 

Jongin didn’t understand. 

Why was he sad about this. 

“I love you dearly, Jongin.” He repeated, reaching up to hold his face gently, tipping it down to press their foreheads together. “Never forget that.”

Somewhere between the surge of emotions and thrumming need, things had escalated. Inhibitions thrown out the window, sheets kicked off the bed and clothes thrown off onto the floor. 

Jongin could only remember holding Kyungsoo as he was taken apart at the seams and pulled back together, breath clipped and moans hitched with his fingers tight around Kyungsoo’s shoulders and head digging into the pillows under him. 

When he woke, Kyungsoo wasn’t in the room with him. He had quickly scanned the room, and his things were still neatly piled on one corner of the room, jacket hanging off a chair and camera left on the nightstand. 

He begrudgingly peeled himself from the bed, pulling whatever article of clothing over his head and legs when his phone let out a sound of notification. Thinking it must have been his manager, he padded over and peeked at the text with one eye closed, opening the link one of his stylists had sent. 

**_‘Breaking News: Agency of Doh Kyungsoo Announces the Actor’s Voluntary Military Enlistment.’_ **

Oh. 

Wow.

He hadn't bothered reading the article at all, setting his phone back down to search for the older man.

Perhaps, that’s why Kyungsoo had been more subdued recently. The reason why Kyungsoo seemed all too pensieve these days. Even in their phone conversations. Even last night. 

Jongin had hoped that he was just in one of those moods, because that—he could understand. 

Suddenly, all the sleep had left his system, a mixture of dread and anxiety clouding his vision as he rushed out of the bedroom to look for the older man, whom he spotted him near the pool, barefoot, in a too big sweater and the same sweatpants from last night swung low on his hips, a thousand mile stare as he stared at the sun rising at the horizon. 

He was way too underdressed to be wandering outside the villa in the cooler temperatures of the morning. 

“What are you doing here?” Jongin croaked out, voice scratchy from misuse and last night’s events. Kyungsoo snapped out of his reverie, only leaning back into Jongin’s embrace and intertwining their hands on his stomach. “Wanted to watch the sun.”

The older man let out a pleased hum as Jongin swayed them side to side, letting him nuzzle into his neck. “You forgot your camera inside though. Wouldn’t that be a waste?” He asked, breath fanning against Kyungsoo’s ear as they watched the early rays of sunlight peak through the clouds, the dark sky tinged a soft pink and orange. 

Kyungsoo turned his head to plant a kiss on Jongin’s cheek and shook his head, staring at him. “No need. Sometimes you just need to appreciate things without the lens of a camera.” He breathed out, the sunlight glinting against his glasses and illuminating his eyes.

He was so, so, beautiful. 

Jongin was unable to comprehend how someone like Kyungsoo had collided oh so quickly into his life. 

He was unable to comprehend why he was parting just as fast as well, opening up the well of insecurities deep in his mind yet again.

“Soo?” Jongin called out, tightening his arms around Kyungsoo’s middle, unable to stop the rush of emotion wetting the collar of the other man’s shirt. 

“Hmm?”

“Did you mean what you told me last night? That you loved me too?” Came the question, doubtful and filled with Jongin’s every fear.

“Of course. I love you very much, Jongin.” 

A beat of silence had passed over them again, Jongin's own breathing loud in his ears.

“Will you still love me when you come back from the military?” When Jongin asked that question, Kyungsoo’s shoulders shook in his grip, before deflating in his arms. Jongin knew Kyungsoo wouldn’t want to argue about this—this was one of the many things out of their control, and there was no room to argue about it. 

Whatever choices the other made for their career was something off the table. Kyungsoo had made his choice for his career, and Jongin had no right to interfere with that.

“Yes.” He had answered plainly, voice quiet and almost drowned out by the world coming alive with the rising sun. “I love you now, I will love you while I’m there, and I will love you when I come back.” Kyungsoo had whispered, afraid of breaking the spell of privacy they still had left. 

In a few hours, their lives would resume as per usual. Jongin would resume to be Kai, walking down red carpets, strutting down catwalks and gracing the most prestigious fashion magazines as if it was his birthright. 

Kyungsoo would go back to Seoul, be the darling of the film industry yet again, open the floor for his agency to bargain with the terms of his contract after eighteen months, and pen a letter to soothe his many heartbroken fans over the news of his enlistment.

But they still had a few more hours. 

A few more hours in each other’s arms. They stood outside for a few minutes, ducking back into the dark, unlit rooms of the villa when the sun had fully risen. Jongin had been determined to go back to bed once more, legs already on autopilot to the bedroom. 

Kyungsoo followed closely, though he didn’t collapse back to bed immediately like Jongin did. “You’ve still got about an hour.” Kyungsoo replied, looking at him from the armchair he was seated in, legs tucked under his chin. “Go back to sleep.”

“Come back to bed.” 

“In a bit.” Kyungsoo replied, preoccupied with his phone, nails clacking with the screen every so often with the speed of how fast he was typing. “Need to talk to hyung. Confirm some things.”

His manager.

Jongin watched him pace from one end of the room to the other, before rifling through the drawers and pulling out a notepad and pen. 

He listened to Kyungsoo’s paced scribbles, and his hushed voice to his manager over a very expensive overseas call, only able to make out a few words of conversation. 

_ “I'll be back tonight.” _

_ “Check my texts. Could you post that for me?” _

_ “The first of July, I got it.” _

Jongin patted the sheets beside him when he emerged back into the room until the older man gave him a stare before acquiescing, sighing gratefully as Kyungsoo replied into a chuckle before sliding back into bed, pulling him closer. 

“When will you leave?” The younger male said, pausing to hum at the fingers running up and down his back. “July. I also have a flight back to Seoul tonight.

“That explains the long vacation.” 

“Didn’t really expect for my application to get accepted that easy, or the news to come out today,” Kyungsoo replied. “I figured I'd come to meet you anyway. I’m sorry, for not telling you earlier.” 

Jongin could only nod a reply, unable to form anything in his head. The hand on Jongin’s back had ceased its actions, settling down on his nape instead. “Are you mad? That I didn’t tell you?”

“No.” He said quietly, breathing in and out steadily. “I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you. Just thinking about how I’ll miss you.” 

Kyungsoo raised his head up to plant a kiss onto Jongin’s temple, embracing him tight. “We’ve got a few more hours, and it’s just a couple of months. It’s not like I’m migrating out of the country.” He joked, but his only reply was an ugly snort from Jongin. 

Jongin stared at Kyungsoo and the unsure smile on his face, eyes glistening with unshed tears that mirrored his own, before meeting him halfway into a kiss.

“A few more hours.” Jongin repeated.

—

_ A deeper look in ‘ _ **_Vignettes and Vices_ ** _ ’, d.o’s newest photoset.  _

_ an article by a. jung _

_ May 29th, 12 AM KST.  _

_ It was another one of those days of late night scrolling through instagram, getting glimpses of someone’s wild night out, or another so called candid picture by an aspiring blogger. I was just ready to call it a night, but had enough energy in me for another refresh to my feed.  _

_ And there it was.  _

_ The oh so reclusive handle.  _

_ The brilliant and vibrant photos, with the purposeful noise and low quality. _

_ _d.o.  _

_ The enigmatic artist has resurfaced yet again.  _

_ The first picture had been a two tone picture—playing with shades of black and magenta, even a hew hints of burgundy.  _

_ The words “Vignettes and Vices” had been emblazoned in the middle in big bold cursive lettering, the slightest hint of its contents, and a link to their website in the caption. _

_ Another set of pictures had surfaced yet again by the mysterious photographer famous for their perfect blend of light and dark, black and white, the juxtaposition of dream and reality that often toed between the lines of ethereal and eerie. _

_ d.o. was unpredictable in a multitude of things—colour palettes, composition, vibe and setting—but the one thing that was utterly consistent since the first time I had stumbled on their page and website almost two years ago was the subject.  _

_ The subject was consistent throughout all their published photo sets. A mystery muse, enshrouded by the same shadow of anonymity of the photographer.  _

_ A sultry gaze, a sensuous form, and yet—his frozen movements coy as d.o.’s newest photos make the viewer seem like they are intruding something utterly private, dispelling the wine tinted fantasy with their presence. _

_ As if they had stumbled onto an illicit rendezvous between two lovers. _

_ “Kji, rome, 2019.” They write under the photos. d.o. keeps their captions short and sweet—another consistent theme with this artist.  _

_ No descriptive thought process, nothing to give them away, nothing but initials, a location and date stamped onto the pictures. _

_ The identity of their mystery muse, however, had been the subject of scrutiny ever since they started gaining notoriety in the art and photography scene.  _

_ No one had been successful in dispelling the fog of anonymity over artist and subject. _

_ I have a feeling it is former dancer and up and coming model, Kai Kim, also known for his real name, Kim Jongin. The initials match, but perhaps these are d.o’s self portraits.  _

_ Perhaps the artist and subject were one and the same. _

_ But then again, d.o. doesn’t let their audience know enough to further scrutinise.  _

_ Just a few minutes later. Another set showed up on d.o.’s website.  _

_ They lacked the signature d.o. touch—deep colours, the purposeful noise and saturation of his photos, the faces lying in obscurity and hidden by shadows, instead displaying a play on light, bright colours bouncing off the model’s beautiful golden skin. _

_ Another surprising aspect—their model, gazing straight into the barrel of the lens. _

_ Their muse truly is Kai Kim. Anyone would recognise that come hither stare. _

_ Though honestly, it doesn’t surprise me. But if Kai and d.o are truly one and the same, then Kai is truly talented and ambitious to constantly toe the line between muse and artist. _

_ In the picture, Kai is vulnerable yet guarded to a degree, as if hiding a secret behind the curl of his lips, head tilted into his arm, the turquoise lights bouncing brilliantly off the skin of his shoulder, cheekbones glittering with the sheen of water. _

_ It is merely captioned quite differently as well.  _

_ “A beauty to rival that of aphrodite’s”, d.o. states—a declaration filled with hubris that would definitely infuriate even the goddess of love and beauty herself. _

_ Yet, even I have to agree.  _

_ Kai Kim is a handsome guy, but d.o’s pictures make the often aloof and statuesque model seem so soft, wrapped in pleasure, bare faced and sparsely clad in bed with no care for the world outside the mansion they had been in, with a devil may cry attitude as he balanced a cigar between his fingers, head tilted back and eyes closed in bliss. _

_ What a dream. _

—

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> No, your honour. I didn't come to pull any punches.


End file.
